With the exception of the day I was born and my early childhood, I've never felt completely in tune with what was going on around me.
Not as a kid —envious of cousins who had beauty, personality and steak for Sunday dinner (something we never had) and not later, as a teenager—when I was positive I looked like Tiny Tim, because someone told me I did. So of course I rejected anyone or anything I thought may reject me, before they could do it, and concentrated on becoming a writer.
Somewhere along the line, I grew up, married a great guy and had two wonderful children. I continued to look at things from an outside point of view. In truth, that's an asset for a journalist. It helps you to see things as others don't see them...sometimes, far more truthfully.
Nowadays, when those "stray grays" are being disguised with dye and my annual checkups involve mostly disgusting procedures, I find I'm far more comfortable in the life I'm living, far more in tune with its flow. And I'm not sure how that happened, but it had something — a lot — to do with age and experience.
I should be miserable. Youth is receding. Even worse, I don't think I'll ever see size eight again. I can't pop sweets whenever I want to, and the calcium loss already showing up in my hip tells me ice skating is out too.
This is it: the front end of the dreaded 'red hat -purple dress' time of a woman's life , when she knows exactly what things she should have done when she was younger — and realizes that she didn't do enough of them.
But I'm not at all angry. I feel great. THIS is great.
I have more inner peace than I thought possible in my youth. I'm writing better than I ever did, I think; the kids are mostly on their own and I'm enjoying a freedom I rarely experienced as a mother.
This, blessedly , is the autumn of a woman's life... a time when she can forgive herself for the stupid mistakes of youth, and at last understand the mistakes made as an adult. My girlfriends are all starting to get it. We understand ourselves so much better these days, and we laugh at the old expectations for women of our age.
We also know why we made the choices we did. We're glad we turned down a few options, like the alcoholic boyfriend or the career path that would have drained the last drop of blood from our limbs.
Without an abundance of wealth, fame or accomplishment, life's been good. There's been a steady inward flow of support from a loving family, good friendships, pride and appreciation for life.
What's passed is passed. And I say that smiling, thinking of the ups and downs of a 30-year marriage. A marriage like that is good, but it also reflects a lot of adaptations over the years — a lot of growing up, and a lot of mutual badgering and conniving. We agree on some things: I don't ask how much he's spent on car parts and he doesn't look in my closet.
As I do a bit of cleaning around the house, finding old family pictures, I wonder why I was so hard on myself in my early years. The pictures show a pretty girl, who laughed at convention —someone who still lingers beneath the woman I've grown into. I even hope someday for a granddaughter who'll share that curly red hair I was blessed with.
I look at my own children now. I love them from top to bottom, for every inch and passage of their lives. Even in troubled times, we kept going, holding onto each other. I've been letting them go these days, to their own dreams and their own lives. Lord knows, it's not easy to do, but I know it's time, and I don't think they'll stray too far.
I've come to realize that life is just as I would have had it. I must have been more in tune with myself than I ever realized.
There are regrets, sure. But for the most part, midlife is a pretty blessed experience. And that's worth far more than a size eight and tight skin.
ANN FRANTZ
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